


Of A Frustrated Longing

by Illusioneery (Arkee)



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: (sorry for not tagging this before I completely forgot!!), Also when I mean Major Character Death it's like implied, Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Light Bondage, M/M, very little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:38:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3872344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arkee/pseuds/Illusioneery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or yet, in which Cloud gazes into the abyss, the abyss does more than just gaze into him in return and the blond chooses to embrace it regardless of what doing so may bring upon him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of A Frustrated Longing

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this as a short PWP, but it accidentally became angsty and I made myself sad as a result. Oops.  
> Enjoy, maybe?

“Is this what you longed for?” Sephiroth asked from behind, the man’s low, breathy voice resonating just by his ear, sending shivers to places that the blond couldn’t imagine that were possible. Cloud trembled, his breath hitching in his throat as he made an effort to bite back an involuntary moan at the sudden overload of sensations taking over him. In the end, it wasn’t what he bargained for at all, though it worked just as nicely. What he longed for, now, was to be able to scratch back, to anchor himself to long strands of silver hair and pull them as hard as he could even that it hurt, all while pressing back against the former general’s throbbing length.

Instead, he was tied to the headboard, _tied up in places that he didn’t suppose he’d ever be tied up_ , whining, legs spread afar… desiring _more_. And the blond wanted to voice it, but the nails digging into his right thigh were driving him mad while Sephiroth took his time preparing him, pace too slow that it was practically a torture.

A warm kiss was pressed to the skin just below his ear, too gentle that it hurt.

It was painful, not because it barely touched his already sweaty skin and not because he was longing for more, but because Cloud had tried — and until then succeeded in his attempts — killing this man more times than it was something mentally safe to deal with. In all honesty, less than an hour before this new situation came to be, the younger man was attempting to do just that. His sword probably still found itself in some dark corner of the hall downstairs, completely abandoned when he got tired of trying and allowed himself to be disarmed.

He had yelled words of anger and personal pain that had the man’s grip on the Masamune’s hilt weakened, until it was discarded on the floor as well, the sound of metal against wood too audible and unexpected, as Cloud supposed he’d be — for a third time — impaled by the cold blade and suspended by it in the air. (Maybe it’d hit his heart this time, empty him from the troubled feelings that sat there, even after all those years and the things the other man did that still hurt him in the deepest of his mind. It was part of what he had yelled at the man for: if he hadn’t, his heart would have broken right there, pieces of it sinking low in his chest.) The blond almost thought he’d gone mad when his nemesis moved, _step after step after step_ across the room, marching his way to him smoothly. Cloud had eyed him suspiciously before the man bent, leaning in and stealing a kiss without any explanation. It hurt because it was too soft after so much harshness. It was so little a touch that it had the young man longing for more, had him pulling Sephiroth down by his leathers to get what he wanted.

In a way, it was as though he’d fallen into the depths of the darkness and chosen to embrace the void surrounding him. It felt insane, but for the moment he longed for the ocean, even if it meant that it would drown him.

 _I know how much it troubles you when what you desire flies in the opposite direction. It troubles me too_ , the voice in the blond’s mind resonated, though it no longer sought mind control. It was the way it was for the older man to avoid pulling back at all costs, not until the moment when the hero of the Planet had rendered himself breathless from seeking Gaia’s number one enemy so eagerly.

Cloud couldn’t remember how they made their way to the second floor, let alone to the closest bedroom, but he couldn’t care less. (Honestly, he didn’t even know how and when he was tied to that bed) Especially not when the silver haired man had two fingers inside him, — _exploring, seeking but never reaching_ — neat, short nails marking his thigh with crescent shapes, and silver hair falling around them like a curtain that gently caressed naked skin and had it itching with the touch. The long fingers curled, _too painfully close_ , making the blond arch his back and attempt to press against the touch, only to let out a frustrated sound as the fingers did the opposite of what he wanted and moved away.

“Quite desperate, aren’t you, _Cloud_?” The blond man could feel the smirk against the back of his neck. It hadn’t been the first time that night that the other drew his fingers away instead of curling them deeper into that point. It was maddening. But then, again, it was Cloud who gave it away that he’d become desperate with soft touches. Other than whining, he wasn’t protesting much about that, though. But it was what… the third time already that it happened? “You never answered my question. Is this what you longed for?”

_No._

He craved the quiet man that other people claimed to be cold and intimidating, but that was just as lonely as he was back in the day, when becoming a SOLDIER was still a dream to pursue, long before they were sent to Nibelheim and things started falling apart before his eyes (Not that they weren’t already falling apart before, but it became explicit once the fire was lit and Tifa lied on the metal floor of that reactor, unconscious and hurt). Ironically enough, there they were, in the mansion that turned everything upside down, in the room with the not so secret entrance to the basement, — where things had truly fallen apart — the old bed creaking under their combined weight.

And what he wanted was the Sephiroth he once knew, who wasn’t a bad man, but rather a victim of an awful life. But as much as he longed for that man, he also longed for having Zack and Aerith alive and well, and for a Nibelheim that had never burned to the ground — the original town and not the fabrication that ShinRa neatly put together as a replacement. However, he couldn’t have any of that. Cloud had seen the flames and felt the heat, rage burning through him. (How could he do that to him…? The idol he looked up to for the longest time, the mighty general… how could he?) He had seen bullet holes in a friend’s chest and asked _“Why?”_ , as the weight of honor and heroship were passed onto him through the Buster Sword. The blond had been there to witness the coldest of the blades come from above and take a young woman’s life.

He had seen Sephiroth return from the dead — _time after time after time_ — and had to kill the monster that looked like the man he loved. It was, certainly, not what he longed for, having this madman instead.

_But it worked, at least for the moment._

“Y— y-yes... “ The blond started, faltering, seeking air as though what he inhaled wasn’t enough. It was as much of a lie as it was of a truth. He wanted Sephiroth, but not the insane side of the man. “...Ah, p-please… S-seph— Sephiroth…”

“Please… what? Say it.” The silver haired man demanded.

_Please reverse time and fix the mess that this has become._

“...M-more…ah...” Cloud begged, uselessly trying to free his hands from the belt tying them to the bed.

_You can’t do that, can you? Fix things so it stops being this complicated?_

The only reply that was given to his request was a quiet “Hnn” that the blond wasn’t sure what to make of. He also wasn’t sure for a moment whether Sephiroth withdrew his fingers to leave him there to his frustration or to replace them with _something else_. There was no need for words to know which one it was once Cloud turned his head just enough to catch a glimpse of the man positioning himself behind him through blue half lidded eyes, the former general’s hands moving to the blond’s hips before he could press himself inside the inviting heat.

Once again, out of reflex, the younger man fought against the belt binding him to the bed’s headboard, even though it wasn’t a move that would result in success.

_Please just destroy me instead, for you can’t fix it. I’m tired of having to destroy you._

Everything was too much, it was overwhelming. There weren’t words anymore, just sounds — mostly from his part rather than Sephiroth’s — resonating in that room of the somewhat destroyed ShinRa Mansion. The bed creaking in time with the rhythm they had assumed, moans, grunts and skin slapping on skin. Maybe, Cloud thought, just maybe, the man would leave him at any moment and set that place on fire. (Not that it didn’t already feel like it was on fire with their activities.)

However, the former general never left. _And it hurt_. It was bothersome because the blond expected him to leave, so it’d be clear as daylight that the man was just playing with him, using him again like a puppet, pulling on his strings and controlling even whether he’d be able to find release or not. Perhaps, though the possibility sounded almost absurd, there was still a little bit left from the man Sephiroth was before Nibelheim in there, the hero that every young boy dreamed to become. ( _I’ll join SOLDIER, so I’ll be strong like Sephiroth._ ) Thinking that way just hurt more, but not physically. It hurt inside, it bothered his guilt filled heart with the idea that, if he had gone after the man when he went to that basement… _maybe… just maybe..._

Cloud had a bad habit of gazing into the abyss, which he had been told not to do. He gazed so much into the abyss that it’d often gaze back into him and return seeking revenge. It was a process, then, of fighting it away and looking into the darkness again, knowing that it would return. Everyone would simply say that he should stop doing that to himself, to no avail. But what could happen if one gazed long into the abyss and decided to embrace the void once it returned the gaze?

He was too afraid to seek that answer. Instead, he allowed himself to be consumed by the darkness, let Sephiroth thrust inside him with abandon until the man decided it was enough and that he, too, should reach the climax. (At that point, Cloud didn’t regret the fact that his clothing had enough belts and straps to be used against him like that, neither the fact that his wrists had awful marks once he had been untied or the fact that he felt weak from the sheer intensity of what they’ve done.)

Sephiroth said nothing, just withdrew himself from him, untied him and let himself collapse onto the bed beside Cloud, regaining his breath before turning onto his side, burying his face on the blond man’s neck and pulling the younger one into a tight embrace. Still no words, and no choice other than embracing back seemed right. As Cloud dozed off, feeling silver hair under his chin, he could almost swear that the man in his arms was trembling. (The realization that he was right was what would hurt more about that once that the shorter man remembered the events of that night.)

The morning that followed came with life breathing from outside the mansion and the tingle of emptiness that was starting to settle in. In the room, the faint daylight touched Cloud’s still bare body as he opened his eyes to nothing but a single black feather near him on the bed. This wasn’t what he longed for, the softness of the quill alarmingly painful against his fingers and the feeling that something — _someone_ — was amiss. There was a time when soft touches wouldn’t hurt as bad as that, but it was long gone. He could hear a voice calling him, from the Lifestream, to warn him that he didn’t have to worry any longer about seeking his nemesis to kill him, for Sephiroth had brought that end upon himself.

In the end, it was just like that, and Cloud longed for things he couldn’t have.

 


End file.
